Worshipping the Golden God
by Creating Myths
Summary: Treize reflects on the Golden God he made of a boy and what it means to worship the Golden God who hates him. Introduction taken out. Prelude to a fic on treize's past that I'm *trying* to get off the ground (read and review please)


Worshipping the Golden God

By the Kitsune-yasha

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Once upon a time, there lived a little boy with ginger hair and pure, dark blue eyes. He had a mother who was the most beautiful lady in the Alliance, and he had a father who was the most handsome and most gentlemanly man in the Alliance. The little boy was heir to a large kingdom of employees and soldiers. Though he knew it, that didn't taint the little boy's pure eyes. He was neither greedy nor ungrateful. He was opposite. His parents loved him, he loved them back, and all was fine on Earth because God was in his Heaven with his white angels. Then one day God's white angels took the father away by means of a giant white demon made by man and uncontrollable. The boy's world suddenly changed. His rose-tinted world was destroyed.

I was that little boy. It was my rose-tinted world that fell apart when my father died. For the longest time, I hated him for dying and I hated the weapon of mass destruction, the mobile suit that had killed him. No, the mobile suit didn't crush him or gun him down. He died in the cockpit, a smile on his face and dried trails of tears on his cheeks. My mother had the mobile suit hidden from the world because the scientists wouldn't let her have it destroyed. 

I used to believe in peace. I used to believe that pacifism was possible, but now I know it isn't. I began knowing it wasn't when my father died in that mobile suit. That mobile suit had been built for a reason, and that reason was war. My father had died for that reason. He was not a pacifist himself. He believed in war, but he also believed in the men who fought them. He taught me to respect soldiers, both living and dead, and to never forget their sacrifice. I think that's why I make it my duty to remember names of the soldiers who died and the number of people killed in battles. I cherish them in my mind. 

My mother was opposite of my father; she was a pacifist. Her father had been an ambassador and she followed in his footsteps, believing in everything he had believed in. She and my father were renowned enemies of sorts in the Alliance diplomatic faction. How or why they ever became involved with each other on a new level is something that is beyond my grasp to understand or I will just never know. Perhaps love truly is the strongest thing if it brings two people with different platforms together in holy matrimony.

I have been in love a couple times. First to a beautiful lady I had to leave for…reasons. Then to an old friend of mine who I let go. Then to someone younger than myself who I could never have. It was the last one who sticks out in my mind. I worshipped the last one, the boy with the tongue of justice. He was my Golden God…and he hated me. This tears me apart. To love someone who doesn't love me. To worship the Golden God who hates me.

In the past histories of Earth, men made their gods and goddesses, fashioning them into something they would believe and hold high to worship in shrines and temples. Every person of every religion has done this. These man-made gods and goddesses brought them satisfaction. They brought meaning to the every day man's life. 

I created a God out of that boy. I immortalized him by letting him live and letting him grow stronger. It brought me satisfaction to see him grow stronger with every battle, grow wiser with every experience. I fed him my knowledge, my philosophy whenever we met. It was ambrosia, my knowledge was, and I gave it to him and only him, in hopes that he would understand and learn. I knew that each time I released him or let him escape, he would grow stronger and more distant. Perhaps I should have kept him like the humans who kept gods and goddesses in the temples they made for their divine creations. Then he would have hated me even more. He would have ignored me. Or maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he wouldn't have hated me all so much. Maybe he would have loved me back in time. But he would have never grown into the god I love.

There is nothing more I can teach my Golden God. I have taught him all that he needed to be taught. He has to find the rest in his own. He has to find the truth I speak of in the world, or perhaps find his own truth. I am no use of him. I will do what every worshiper of a god they love will do; I will kill myself. No. That is not accurate. I will let him kill me. I will let him have the satisfaction he deserves- the satisfaction I felt whenever I saw him in battle, becoming stronger and wiser. My death is my final lesson for him. May he bear it well.

Before I engage in my mobile suit, I reflect some more on everything. I am my father. I lived by his ideas and I will die with a smile on my face in a mobile suit, which is, by the way, a custom of sorts of the one he died in. The suit won't kill me, though. My Golden God will. I close my eyes and I see those angry ebony eyes of my God staring back at me. In them, I can see the future. I can see forever. He will become great. He will learn from me. Perhaps he'll even love me. 

I open my eyes and see the star before them. Are my eyes still pure? Is my world still rose-tinted? Blindly, yes. I rose-tinted my world once more with the creation of a God who will remember me. In that, I have immortalized myself. I smile. When I die, I will not truly die. When I die, I will be worshipping the Golden God who hates me. When I die…

I'm ready for you, my Golden God with Ebony Eyes and a Tongue that Speaks Justice. I'm ready.


End file.
